The Villain’s Daughter (16 page)

Michael simply shrugged. ‘What can I say? He wound me up. He was badmouthing Lizzie, slagging her off. I couldn’t just stand by and let him get away with it. She might not have been perfect, far from it, but she kept that family together when Terry went down. She kept the business running too. If it hadn’t been for—’

‘So it had nothing to do with me?’

Iris could see that her question had taken him by surprise - and his subsequent hesitation lasted a little too long.

‘You?’ he repeated, his tongue sliding quickly across his lips. Then he added, unconvincingly, ‘Why should it have anything to do with you?’

‘I’ve no idea.’ She glanced anxiously towards the door, worried that Luke might suddenly reappear. ‘But I understand that my name was mentioned.’

‘Nah, you’ve got that wrong. Who told you that? It was about Lizzie, love, nothin’ else.’

‘So why didn’t you say that yesterday?’

‘I dunno.’ He shrugged again. And then, blatantly playing for time, he picked up his mug, buried his bruised face in it and took a long slurp of tea. ‘It was all kind of blurry, you know, when I got here.’

But Iris didn’t believe him. ‘Look at me,’ she said, ‘and swear that my name wasn’t mentioned.’

It took a while for his guilty blue eyes to meet hers. ‘Well okay, maybe it was, but only—’

Iris drew in a breath. ‘I knew it.’ Her heart had begun to beat faster. She could feel the blood rushing into her cheeks. ‘Was it about Dad? It was about Dad, wasn’t it?’

‘What?’ Michael said. ‘No, of course not. Why should it be?’

She reached across and grabbed his hand. ‘You have to tell me, whatever it is. I have to know!’

‘It’s nothing to do with Sean,’ he said, pulling away his fingers. ‘Jesus, whatever put that stupid idea in your head! I was pissed off, that’s all, about how Danny Street treated you. He thinks he’s the big man, the way he likes to push women around. It’s not right. He’s got no right.’

Iris was confused, but then it suddenly dawned on her that he must have heard about Danny’s less than chivalrous behaviour at Tobias Grand & Sons on the day before Lizzie’s funeral. Knowing what Michael was like, she had deliberately kept the details from him. ‘How did you hear about that?’ A wave of disappointment flowed through her, followed by a wave of relief. The disappointment was down to the fact she had hit another dead end as regards the disappearance of her father, the relief that the Streets, hopefully, were not connected to it.

‘I dunno. Someone must have mentioned it.’

It didn’t take her long to figure out who it had been. ‘Toby,’ she said with a sigh. The two of them must have got talking after she’d left the pub. And God alone knew what kind of exaggerated version Toby had provided him with. ‘You don’t want to listen to a word he says,’ she added, even though it was too late. ‘He wasn’t even there. He doesn’t know the first thing about it. And anyway, Michael, it’s not down to you to fight my battles. I’m all grown up now; I can take care of myself.’

The conversation was interrupted by the return of Luke. An abrupt silence fell over the kitchen as he walked in through the door. ‘Should my ears be burning?’ he said, looking from one to the other.

‘No,’ Iris said, getting to her feet. ‘I was just giving Michael a lecture on the dangers of scrapping in pubs. Are we ready to go?’

Luke nodded. ‘Ready when you are.’

As Iris left, she glanced over her shoulder. ‘I haven’t finished with you yet. We’ll talk later.’ Michael didn’t seem overjoyed at the prospect.

 

As soon as they arrived, Iris knew she’d made the right decision. Getting out of the car, she waited as he bought a Pay & Display ticket and stuck it to the inside of the windscreen. Then they walked together into the Columbia Road Flower Market. Iris loved this place: the noisy crowds and bright stalls, the wonderful scents and colours; it was a full-on, heavenly assault on the senses and her spirits were instantly lifted. There was so much to see, to smell, to hear. Even her taste buds were on fire with the drifting aroma of fresh coffee, bread and something wonderfully spicy that she couldn’t put a name to.

She suddenly felt happier than she had for days. ‘This was a good idea,’ she said, gazing up at Luke and linking her arm through his. Although she suspected he had only come here to get away from Michael, she didn’t care. Just for a while, she was determined to put all her worries behind her.

As they strolled down the centre of the crowded market, their feet crunching on the thin layer of snow, Iris remembered all the times she had come here as a child. They had never bought much - they’d never had much money and only a tiny scrap of yard to plant things in - but she had always been allowed to choose some bulbs, a few hyacinths or tulips, which she’d put carefully in the ground and which would miraculously send up their green shoots a few months later. She smiled at the memory. Occasionally her mother would buy cut flowers, a small spray of freesias in summer, a few daffodils in spring.

It wasn’t so much the buying that mattered, she realised, as the being here. The market wasn’t just a place to buy stuff: it was where you went to look and smell and touch. It was where you went to listen to the vendors, to mingle, to touch shoulders with your neighbours and feel a part of something. When people talked about the East End it was usually about the crime, about the grimness and the grief. But there was no evidence of any of that in the busy street she saw before her.

Iris immediately understood how just being in the right place at the right time could put everything else into perspective. She had been stressing too much recently. Although she still had questions about Albert Jenks and his approach to her, they were questions that she suspected would never be answered now.

As Luke stopped to study a row of Christmas trees - he always took an eternity before choosing anything - she hung on to his arm and gazed around. Her eyes alighted first on a row of winter pansies. The velvet flowers in shades of golden yellow, deep red and purple made her smile. It would be nice, she thought, to have a home with a garden rather than living in a flat. On the stalls to their left was a selection of tall, leafy ferns, bamboo and bay trees, and to their right a selection of brightly coloured gladioli. Further along she could see roses, white chrysanthemums and a dramatic display of exotic orchids.

Iris sighed with pleasure. It wasn’t just the wonderful array of flowers and plants that made her feel so good, it was the whole atmosphere of the place. This was the East End she had yearned to return to with its hustle and bustle, its heart and soul. This was where she’d been born and where she belonged.

‘So what do you think?’ Luke said. ‘This one or this one?’

They appeared much the same to Iris. ‘I don’t mind. They’re both nice. You decide.’

But Luke, as ever, couldn’t quite make his mind up. Iris let go of his arm as he poked and prodded at the two trees. Then, as she could see that a decision wasn’t likely to be made soon, she said: ‘Look, while you’re doing that, I’ll nip across to the deli. I’ll only be five minutes.’

‘Okay,’ he said.

Iris walked down the street, weaving in and out of the crowd, breathing in the fragrance of the market. There was a short queue at the deli. While she waited, Iris examined the goods on offer and when she got to the counter bought a hunk of blue brie, fresh bread, three homemade chicken pies and a carton of stuffed olives.

It was as she was leaving the shop that Iris and a tall, broad man in an overcoat accidentally collided. Or at least she thought it was accidental. A second later she knew better. The man’s hand gripped the upper part of her left arm causing her to drop the carrier bag. As the food spilled out across the pavement, he quickly pushed her back against the wall. Leaning down, he stared into her face.

‘What are you doing?’ she said, confusion quickly being replaced by panic. She struggled to free herself.

But his grip only tightened. ‘I’ve a message for you, Iris O’Donnell,’ he hissed.

She instantly stopped struggling. He knew her name.
How did he know her name?

Iris stared up at him, her eyes wide and scared. Her assailant, in his forties she thought, had soft, almost flabby features, as if the weight of his skin was too heavy for his face. But there was no disputing his strength. She could feel his fingers digging angrily into her flesh. ‘What do you want?’

The big man paused. As if revelling in the fear he was creating, a tiny smile crept to his lips. He glanced to his left and right in case anyone was watching. It was at that very moment that she recognised him. He was the man, she was sure, who’d been hanging around outside work yesterday.

He bent even lower until his jowly face was almost touching hers. She could smell onions on his breath. ‘Tell yer daddy that we’re waiting for him.’

Iris swallowed hard. ‘W-what?’

‘You ’eard,’ he said. ‘Just do as you’re told and pass the message on. And pass this on too - if he wants his precious daughter to see another Christmas, then he’d best start cooperating. He gave her arm one final squeeze for good measure. ‘You got that, love?’

Her heart was thrashing in her chest. ‘But—’ she began. He didn’t give her a chance to finish.

‘No fuckin’ buts, sweetheart. This ain’t a bleedin’ debate. And don’t even think about going to the law. If you do, you’ll regret it - and yer old man will regret it too.’ He let go of her arm, straightened up, and took a step back. ‘Keep yer gob shut, eh? We’ll be in touch soon.’ Then he turned and walked away. A few seconds later he was lost to the crowd.

Iris stood rooted to the spot, gently rubbing at her arm. Her lungs were pumping out her breath in short, fast, frightened bursts. Jesus, what had just happened? She was barely able to process it. It was like a loop going round and round in her head. Especially those words he had uttered at the start:
Tell yer daddy that we’re waiting for him.
Could it be possible that he was still alive, after all? That Albert Jenks
had
known where he was? And then the full thrust of the stranger’s threat suddenly registered in her brain. They expected her to contact her father and she didn’t have a clue as to where he was.

Suddenly Luke appeared at her side, dragging the tree behind him. ‘Here you are. I thought you said five minutes.’

‘Sorry,’ she muttered, trying to pull herself together. ‘There was a queue. And then someone bumped into me and . . .’ She gazed down at the food scattered on the ground, at the huddle of tiny green olives by her feet. Then she looked up again at Luke, at his familiar face, at the lock of brown hair that fell over his forehead. Surely he would notice there was something wrong? Surely he would notice how scared she looked?

But he was too preoccupied with his recent purchase. ‘You like it?’ he said. As if he’d grown it himself, he gestured proudly towards the tree.

Iris nodded. ‘It’s great.’ This was the point where she should tell him everything. So what was holding her back? A part of her longed to explain, longed to sink against his chest, to feel him hold her safely in his arms. But another part drew back. He was due to go to Brussels tomorrow and all she’d be doing was landing him with a heap of worry. Or maybe that was just an excuse. She was certain that he would insist on going to the cops. And she couldn’t do that, wouldn’t do that, if it meant putting her father in danger.

‘We’ll get back then, shall we?’ Luke said, stamping his feet impatiently on the ground.

Iris gave another nod, not trusting herself to say any more than she had. Her legs were still shaking as she linked her arm through his again. As they made their way back to the car, her frightened eyes scanned the crowd for any sign of her assailant. But if he was still there, he was well hidden.

Iris was aware of a silence in the flat; in the living room the TV was off and the sofa was empty.

‘Michael?’ she called out, but there was no reply.

She walked into the kitchen where she found a scribbled note lying on the table.
Ta for everything. Have gone home. M.
Iris knew why he’d left in such a hurry - he didn’t want another grilling. But now, more than ever, she needed to talk to him. If anyone had an idea of what lay behind the threats she had received today, it was Michael.

‘He’s gone,’ she said, retracing her steps and flapping the note under Luke’s nose.

‘Well, he probably wants to be at his own place.’

‘But he shouldn’t be alone. It’s too soon.’

Luke shrugged, not even trying to look concerned. ‘He’ll be fine, babe. Don’t worry about it.’

‘Perhaps I should go round, check that he’s okay.’

‘For God’s sake, give the guy a break, can’t you? He just needs a bit of peace and quiet.’

Iris frowned. For the second time she was tempted to tell him about the man in the market. If Luke came with her to see Michael then maybe, between them, they could force him to talk. But she instantly dismissed the idea. The only talking Luke would be doing was to the cops.

‘So are you getting those decorations, babe, or not?’

While he began sorting out the stand for the tree, Iris went to the bedroom and dragged down the cardboard box from the top of the wardrobe. December started next week, but she wasn’t feeling festive. Her mother had never put the tree up until a week before Christmas. Anyway, she had more important things on her mind than baubles and tinsel. At the thought of what had happened in the market, her legs began to shake again. As her knees buckled she sank down on the bed and buried her face in her hands. What should she do? For a minute she was too overwhelmed to do anything. Then, reaching into her bag, she pulled out her mobile and tried to call Michael. It went directly to voicemail. She hesitated before leaving a message, unsure of what to say. She didn’t want to scare him off, to make him think that she was going to start cross-examining him again, but she needed some answers - and quick. ‘Er . . . it’s me. It’s Iris. Will you call me when you get this message?
Please.
I just want to know that you’re okay.’